Okay, so Monday’s episode of Oprah featured Paula Deen. {Work-at-home bonus — Oprah at 2.} You know, the grandmotherly, southernly, twangity twang twang recipe-maker, cook extraordinaire? Which, considering I can count the number of times I use the oven each year on one hand, normally wouldn’t interest me in the least.

Forget that it’s PURE FAT and sickenly high in cholesterol. Paula, you had me at hello. {And THAT, my friends, is nothing short of a miracle.}

So, I cooked it. I cooked it with gusto. I cooked it with a fierce southern accent. And by this, I DO mean I talked — narrated, in fact — as I whisked and sauteed and chopped and fried. Had anyone come in unannounced, they’d surely assume I was completely insane. The dog was thoroughly confused.

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something downright infectious about a southern drawl. Same deal with an English accent. And EVERY time I talk to someone with either accent, within 10 minutes, I become Madonna. Which totally sounds like I’m mocking and usually ends with me excusing myself for one reason or another before I humiliate myself beyond repair.

I digress.

Anyhoo, here it is — MY finished dish.

Not as PURTY, but it turned out pretty darn good if I do say so myself. I expect to wake up 2 lbs heavier.